The skies were clouded over and gray, rain pouring down. Lawrence was next to me, holding my hand. My bat was put away, my helmet not recording. Only a few feet away, on a large pile of rubble, was giant letters, spelling out OPE. The rest of the giant sign was broken beyond recognition. Where the skyscraper had stood was a giant, tall tower made of what appeared to be obsidian. It was what had collapsed Opulence Heights.
Looking to the side, at Lawrence’s heart-wrenching look as the rain hid his tears, I wondered what it was like to have a loving father. To have any loving family members at all.
“There’s been no bodies recovered,” I said quietly.
Lawrence’s lips pulled back into a grimace as his shoulders shook, eyes screwed shut. A pained, wretched noise escaped his throat. Reaching out, I hesitated. Then I pulled the man into a tight hug. A few seconds later, I released him and walked alone toward the tall obsidian spire.
Walking into the grand flame-decal double doors, I hesitated at the sight. There, fighting, screaming, and hiding from various molten horsemen, were many, many individuals. I was quiet as I walked forward, ignoring the fighting the civilians were doing as I picked up many, many charred corpses and started piling them by the door.
I didn’t turn my camera on at all, more and more corpses being added until the silence grew haunting. The fiery black horses had manes of flame and red eyes much like the goblins’ burning with hatred. They had armor all along their bodies, their joints and legs protected. I stepped into the entryway, watching as the horses reared back, their neighs sounding like the roar of a fire.
Under them was black tile, the area obscenely ostentatious from the few glances I took up.
“I surrender, I’m just here to collect the dead. Let me go in peace,” I called out. The horses didn’t seem to understand, galloping toward me but having issues, rearing back at the piles of corpses around me, unable to climb the cooked meat piles.
I turned, dragging those corpses out with a hollow feeling in my chest. I couldn’t beat a normal warhorse in a fight, let alone one wearing armor. Not to mention I could see slow-moving things in the hallways extending outward walking toward us. It had to have been several months within the tower, right? No, maybe not. I don’t think this tower had time dilation at all. Had it only been a few days, for them?
Shouldn’t I have tried harder to protect them? … No, I thought quietly. No. They all chose to fight instead of flee. None of them had even noticed me entering.
Going to the tower’s door, I opened it. The moment I did, the horses galloped away from the entryway, staring at me from the giant room the entryway opened up into, five feet away from the door.
“I found the bodies! It’s safe! Come in and help,” I called out to the humanitarian services. People jogged over, and soon I had help in carrying the dead.
Some of them were unrecognizable, but one—a thin, frail man with wispy brown hair—was taken from my arms as Lawrence appeared, yelling out. Lawrence fell to his knees with the corpse that only vaguely resembled him, sobbing heavily.
The skies crackled as rain poured down. I glanced up at the skies as thunder rumbled the rubble beneath us, shaking the ground. High up in the skies, looking unusual, was a door in the massive set of clouds with an unnaturally flat bottom. That white cloud was the only one with lightning coming from it, the other dark gray clouds only producing rain.
In the air, twisting around, were fighter jets. Soon, they disappeared into the large dark dent in the fluffy white cloud. The sound of Lawrence’s sobs washed over me as I looked back down. All around us were people milling about. Some were injured, many had torn or ragged clothing, their faces gaunt, and their eyes haunted.
I reached out, setting a hand on Lawrence’s shoulder.
“Come on, let’s go bury him somewhere nice. Big Dick America owes me a ride in a private jet, anyway. We can bury him wherever you’d like,” I said quietly. I was the one attracting the civilian’s attention, I think. I couldn’t leave Lawrence here alone, though.
Lawrence’s sobs grew quieter, not ceasing as he stood up, stumbling as he cradled his father’s corpse in his arms. I wrapped an arm around him as we walked.
A guilty feeling pervaded me at the lack of sorrow I felt. I held Lawrence tighter as we walked. Soon, we were approaching military forces that were being used to help the people, picking up rubble and calling out for survival. Someone glanced up, walking toward me.
“Blood, good to see you,” The man called out as he approached. I stared up at the tall black man with light hazel eyes for a few seconds. What was his name, again?
“Likewise,” I greeted, glad the man didn’t extend his hand again, “Do you have the Green General on speed dial? He owes me a private jet ride. I’d like to take a flight to…” I glanced to the side.
“Geneva, Nebraska,” Lawrence said quietly, looking drained. His eyes were red, snot coming from his nose and blood dripping from his puffed-up eyes from how hard he’d cried. His eyes weren’t focused on us, though, staring down at the face of his father.
I looked down at the corpse for a moment before shrugging, looking at the army man, “Yeah, there.”
“The Green General? Like the guy on the commercials?” The man asked.
I shook my head, “No, Big Dick America, the guy the president promoted,” I clarified.
“Oh, Big Dick America,” The man’s eyes lit up with recognition, a small smile appearing on his face, “Everyone calls him that, now, after watching edits of your videos. He wanted to talk to you about uploading a classified meeting online, last I heard.”
I suppressed my chuckle, glancing at Lawrence. His gaze was focused on his father, still, eyes lidded as he looked down at the man who’d raised him.
“So, Geneva, Nebraska? Free jet ride?” I asked.
The man’s smile vanished as he looked at the corpse, back straightening, hand raising into a salute, “Yes, of course. I will talk to my superiors. Wait here.”
He turned, jogging away as he spoke on his radio, otherwise going back to what he was doing—leading his squadron in their duties given by the president. Their duties, of course, being to ignore the dungeons for now and help the people outside of them.
In the president’s words, there was no need to defend America from Dungeon Breaks if the people died before the dungeons broke. Not a very concise message, but one that got the general idea across.
Soon, someone walked up to us as a helicopter floated around a relatively flat area, men clearing it as the helicopter waited. We were led there and got into the helicopter. Soon, we were off.
It was quiet, our flight short, going to where a plane was. The plane was… interesting. Mostly because I recognized it from one of the various crime shows I’d watched.
“Isn’t this the president’s plane?” I asked as I walked up the steps after Lawrence, glancing behind me.
“Yes, sir. He said you could use it, sir,” The man behind me—one I didn’t recognize—agreed.
I nodded, looking ahead as I walked into the massive private jet. Presidential jet. What was it called? Was it just a regular plane, but more impressive? Soon, I sat across from Lawrence as he held his dead father.
The plane ride was deathly silent. It was only a few hours, though, and soon Lawrence and I were leaving the plane. The sun burned my eyes, even through my tinted helmet. A blond woman with warm doe-like brown eyes ran up, ignoring the military that tried stopping her.
“Lawr—oh, oh my god! No!” The woman’s eyes widened as they landed on the corpse in Lawrence’s hands, her own hands fluttering to her mouth, tears filling her eyes.
“Mom,” Lawrence croaked out, eyes full of tears once more as he held his dead father closer to him.
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The woman’s brown eyes looked up from her dead husband, sorrow and hurt filling her as she reached out, wailing as she held both her husband and her son. Lawrence and she ended up on their knees with the corpse between them, both sobbing.
I awkwardly glanced around, crossing my arms as I shifted to stand next to the military man who had stopped trying to prevent the woman’s approach.
The two cried loudly and roughly, clinging to each other and the corpse.
“So the president isn’t using this?” I asked quietly after several long minutes.
“No, sir,” The military man commented, voice quieter than mine, “The president has two always active. This one was to be decommissioned, but the president said to grant you use once he heard you were calling in a favor.”
“A debt. Big Dick America owed me one,” I corrected, fingers tapping at my arms.
“The flight back is a favor granted, then,” The military man proclaimed, “Unless you plan to find your own way back?”
I thought about it for a moment. There were still many dungeons to raid, and the Midwest had the least amount of people in it. It wouldn’t be amiss for Lawrence and I to go from dungeon to dungeon in this state.
I shrugged, “You guys have the east coast covered. If the president wants me to owe him a favor, I wouldn’t mind a map of all the dungeons on this half of America, though. I’d prefer not to lose half of America.”
The military man shifted, saluting me and turning to go into the plane. All the other military personnel turned and marched off in a militaristic way as well, leaving me alone with the two sobbing individuals.
I crouched after taking two steps toward them, setting my knees on the ground. It had been a long time since I’d seen uncracked and pristine concrete, I mused, glancing around at the emptiness around us. We’d landed in a parking lot, an abandoned warehouse with a “For Sale” sign on it.
In the distance, as the sun grew lower, I saw a bright orange and red ball. At first, I thought it was the sun, but, looking around, I saw it was in the east, the sun not quite low enough to be a fiery red ball. Was it a dungeon? A fire?
Soon, the military personnel returned, and I was given a few papers in a file labeled CLASSIFIED with a list of places and their respective coordinates. Thanking the man quietly, I watched as the jet took off. It was really loud, I noted, even as the plane carefully avoided running us over.
“You’ll help me bury him, right?” Lawrence asked after an hour, his voice raw. His mother was still crying, cradling her husband, and rocking back and forth.
I looked at the woman. Would I ever love someone that much? Would anyone ever love me that much? I hoped so—I’d always wanted to know what it felt like to love and be loved. It must be a great and wonderful feeling, to be this heartbroken over the others’ death.
He looked up, at me, “Blood?”
I glanced up, “This place has a coroner for that, right?”
Lawrence sniffled, nodding as he looked back at his father, “I want to be the one to bury him, though. The coroner wouldn’t help, anyway, the church he operated in got destroyed by a dungeon.”
I looked at the painfully bright, burning orb of orange and red. I hesitated. Then I stood up, nodding.
“Does your mother need more time, or do you think she could get a coffin for him?” I asked as I walked over.
“I can do it,” Lawrence’s mother said quietly, still rocking, her head nodding mechanically up and down, “I can do it.”
I swallowed, feeling guilty for the jealousy swarming up within me. Feeling guilty that my eyes were watering despite never having met the man. He raised a good kid, I mused quietly. Perfect for the environment the world had been before the dungeons appeared.
I guess in that way, my guardians raised a good kid, too, right? Perfect for the environment the world turned into after the dungeons appeared.
I huffed, the bitter mirth unwanted, “Then let’s go. Do you have a specific spot you want to bury him at?”
Lawrence nodded, standing up, leaving the corpse in his mother’s arms, “Yeah. Meet us at the pond across from the dog park with the coffin, Mom. Our clearing. Does Frank still have the hearse? That didn’t get destroyed, did it?”
Lawrence’s Mom shook her head, sniffling as she curled further around the corpse.
“Right. Let’s… let’s go get shovels,” Lawrence said quietly. We walked for a few minutes to a small white home with a gravel driveway on L Street.
Going into the open garage, Lawrence searched around before pulling out two shovels, one with a flat edge and the other with a pointed spade-like edge.
“Small place,” I said quietly as Lawrence handed me the one with the flat edge—which would suck to try and dig with. We’d have to dig for a long time, I mused tiredly, “You grow up here?”
Lawrence nodded quietly, going into the house for a moment. I didn’t follow him into the dark confines—though they looked neat. Soon, he came out with keys, and we got into one of the two cars there were—the rusted and well-used light blue truck left just in case the hearse was destroyed.
Soon, we were pulling into a dead end. I followed Lawrence through bramble and brush to a small clearing that we could only get to by crossing over a small creek.
It was quiet as Lawrence kicked and shifted a rock, turning the previous carvings on the rock away, pulling out a long needle-like thing and a mallet.
“Help me carve his name,” Lawrence said quietly.
I slowly knelt next to the massive rock, “What’s his name? How is it spelled?”
Lawrence’s shoulders shook, voice quavering, “Scott Marvin Brown. His birthday is tomorrow. 1961-2029. S…” Lawrence broke down crying again.
I swallowed thickly at the man’s grief, reaching out and wrapping my arms around him. To my surprise, he returned the hug, tightly clutching onto me as he sobbed. We were there for a long moment, me rubbing the man’s back until his crying petered out once more.
“Right,” I agreed quietly as his crying faded, though his grip was still tight around me, “Let’s carve it deep so the name never fades.”
Lawrence nodded into my shoulder, sniffling, his arms relaxing. Soon, together, we carved the man’s name. I was holding the spike-thing and Lawrence hammering, his fingers shaking too much to hold the spike-thing steady on his own.
Many people I didn’t know came up with shovels of their own.
“Sorry, Lawr,” One of the men said, “The excavator’s not working. I got the people from church to come help out.”
Lawrence nodded, sniffling as he stood up, “We’ll take turns digging, then.”
The coroner, Frank, carved a square into the ground around the size of the coffin. Me and one other—me thankfully granted a sharp-edged shovel—started digging. Once we grew tired, two others took over. We worked in rotation, Lawrence and his mother working together.
I took over for his mother once she grew tired, helping her out of the small ditch as I hopped down into it. It was dark, large flashlights aimed at the ground as we continued working.
“This is good,” One of the men said, looking up, setting the shovel down and reaching out. I reached out alongside another to help him out of the hole, the coroner still in the hole, “I’m six foot one, this hole’s the same height as me.”
“Sides need to be carved out, more,” The coroner said, “I can do it, it won’t take long.”
Soon, as the sun rose, we lowered the fancy wooden coffin using many straps and a pulley system I didn’t quite understand. Regardless, I was told to hold something and lower it in time with everyone else. The coffin was set gently down, and we all stared at the coffin for a long moment, breathing heavily.
“He was a good man, with a good heart,” Frank said, turning to Lawrence, “Do you want to say anything?”
Lawrence’s lips twisted miserably, the man looking like he would break down crying again. Sniffling, he stood straight, nodding his head. His mother sobbed softly, covering her mouth as she stared down at the coffin.
“He was the best father in the world. He—“ Lawrence took a moment, tears streaking down his dirt-filled face, “He was loved by many, and he will be missed.”
I felt like an outsider, staring down at the coffin of a man I’d never known—one who had been dead before I arrived in that obsidian spire. After the eulogy was over, I and some others grabbed the flat-edged shovels and started burying the coffin.
The sun rose steadily, the sun once more bright and the skies a beautiful shade of blue, the clouds white and fluffy. Lawrence and I stood at the fresh dirt of the grave for a long time. After Lawrence’s mother left, I shifted. Going around, I gathered palm-sized rocks, moving to put them around the soft, loamy dirt.
Lawrence shifted to help after I was about halfway done outlining where the coffin was. Then, going around, I collected wildflowers by their roots.
“Did he have a favorite plant or tree?” I asked.
Lawrence shook his head, and I nodded, gathering the blue forget-me-nots and the small white flowers that were dotted around the area. I stripped the flowers of any extra bits on it.
Soon, headed by a big stone with a name and date crudely carved into it, there was a large rectangle of stones, a sea of blue and white completely coating the top.
“They’re forget-me-nots,” I said quietly after a moment, stomach twisting as the sky grew dark.
Lawrence’s gaze didn’t move from the grave, “What?”
“The flowers we just gathered. They’re called forget-me-nots. They’re, um, hardy, and they grow everywhere once planted. Next year, they’ll regrow. They’re tough, too, so they won’t get outgrown by anything,” I commented awkwardly, gesturing at the grave as I glanced up.
Lawrence was looking at me, his deep brown eyes still red, his eyes still puffy, and deep purple bruises under his eyes. His dirty skin had clean streaks going down his face. His face twisted, his lips pulling back to show his teeth as he broke down crying once more. I froze as he fell to his knees, sobbing loudly.
Shit. Did he not want that? Did he know they were considered weeds by some?
I hesitated, kneeling next to him, hands hovering. What should I say? We could always just remove them if he didn’t like them…
Before I could think of anything to say, the man reached out, hugging me tightly.
“Th-thanks,” He managed through his great, heaving sobs.
I wrapped my arms around him, relaxing, relieved. Oh. He was just crying again because he was grieving, not because I did something. My gaze found the giant rock—the tombstone—that we’d carved, staring at the name as the sun filtered through the leaves, orange lighting up the man’s name.
SCOTT MARVIN BROWN
1961-2029
HUSBAND, FATHER, AND FRIEND
MAY HE REST IN PEACE